


Pleas from a Cat Named Virtue

by distefanos



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 20:51:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7453537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distefanos/pseuds/distefanos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>9 times Dele broke Eric's heart and 1 time Eric broke Dele's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prologue/Part I: The Cat

Once my owner was called Erik, now my owner is called...well...Eric.

Confusing, yes. Imagine how I feel. I was suspicious for a while and it took ages to really pinpoint the differences, but the subtle shift from K to C is larger than one might think.

This Eric feeds me on time. This Eric put an annoying collar round my neck. This Eric makes sure my litter box is cleaned regularly.

I guess this is this Eric's house. New Eric. New house. The biggest change is it's darker here in this house, and there are dogs. I've just about got them under my control now. At the very least, they're quite scared to go near me and they even let me steal their food. It's not even good but sometimes I eat it anyways to assert my dominance.

Now that I've settled in, the sequence of events that left me here start to make sense.

I recall being transported in that terrible small dark box. I remember the tinny taste of blood when the owner formerly known as Erik stuck a finger through the bars and I showed him just how I feel about bumping and shaking my way across London. I remember all the new (and frankly disgusting) smells of the new house, the lurking feeling of the dogs who were being kept locked up somewhere. As soon as I was sprung from my prison I sussed out the dog room, and I could see their shadows under the door as they skittered back and forth and scratched at the frame excitedly. I contemplated sticking a paw under there to see what they'd do, but decided I had more exploring to do instead. From the polished kitchen floor I could hear the Erick's conversing.

"Well, have a good break, yeah? Can't say I'm rooting for you, but, you know, don't get injured or nothing?"

"Sure Dier, hey thanks again eh?"

"Here, why have you brought the entire bag of cat food? This looks like it'll feed him a month or two, not a week and a half--okay, well, bye." A swift slam of the door and the rattle of glass as like a whirlwind the old Erik was gone to be replaced by this quiet, introspective Eric. He watched me in the doorway, a small smile playing at the corner of his lip. I slinked past him into the hallway, hooking my tail around his leg as I passed. Hello new source of food.

"Well, Tuddy (Do not call me this, I will not answer). Tud (Sometimes I'll answer to this). It's just you and I for a while. Er, and Cisco and Clay. But don't worry about them." I wasn't worried, but he looked it. His brows pulled together in a frown and his chin tilted slightly in the direction of the room containing the beasts. "We'll be just fine, mate." He bent down to pet my back and I let him run a hand through my fur just once before I moved on to explore other rooms. It seemed quiet here, and something empty about the place, like there was too much space and someone missing who's meant to occupy it. I claimed a room for my own and the week and a half was quiet. He took the dogs out when he thought I was sleeping. I was sleeping, but that didn't mean I couldn't hear them fighting their way down the corridor toward me as Eric dragged them out for a walk.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

When the week and a half was up Eric started to look quite concerned. Once while they were out for a walk I checked out their room and those brutes had practically torn the place apart. Fur everywhere, smell unbearable, the door frame in ribbons, wood chips littering the floor. I considered peeing on the wall just to make them mad, I really really did, but then I wasn't quite ready to risk making an enemy of my sustenance yet. I decided to let them live for now.

But it was clear the dogs would not last down in the lower level of the house on their own for much longer. I started to worry that Eric would switch our homes and I would be confined to the darkness of that space instead. That's why one day when the dogs came home, instead of hiding like usual, I perched on an ottoman in the den where they could see me as they entered the house.

That was a disaster. Eric wasn't expecting me to be there and neither were Cisco and Clay. They both jolted forward on their leads sending Eric sprawling and freeing them from the length of rope. They both came leaping towards me and I scarpered as fast as I could into Eric's room and under the bed. If it weren't for the doltish beasts momentary surprise at being free of their chains I probably wouldn't have made it. I could hear the dogs jumping around, could feel hot breath as one (the dark one) got down on his haunches and stuck his head under the bedskirt. I swiped at him, claws out, and he nearly knocked himself out in a hurry to escape the pain, crying and running down the corridor. I could hear Eric cursing as he recovered from the fall and came to fetch the other dog, who it sounded like had perched himself atop the bed, perhaps with an idea to pounce if I tried to leave. I took note that the blond one was clever for future reference.

From under the bed I could hear the phone dialing and then another voice as Eric dragged the dogs out into the corridor. "Yeah, Lamela, it's Dier. When are you coming to get this cat, mate? I know you're back in London and my dogs--Oh. Well okay. I'll see you tomorrow then." I'm the cat in question. At that point I thought I was going home.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"It's not that simple, are you joking! Lamela, usually you start with, with puppies! Or a kitten! One of them has to be young so they grow up used to the other, and even then--"

"Dier, they're only animals! They learn things. Just throw them in together, let them fight it out and then they'll become best friends. I think you have been feeding it too much." The owner formerly known as Erik is considering me now. He's scooped me up by the scruff of my neck and is peering at me rather cruelly. I fear for what he might do next.

"Right, then why can't you do it! You've got a puppy, it should be easy!"

"I told you my friend, the girlfriend, she is allergic. Can't have it." Erik took a few steps down the corridor towards the dogs' room but then Eric was blocking him. I snap my tail back and forth in warning of my displeasure.

"I'm not letting your cat claw my dogs to bits because your girlfriend has an allergy! This is not my problem!"

"I'll put it on the streets then. I've seen cats around, some are living out there."

"This is a bloody house cat!"

"Fine, where is one of those, you know, that place that will take unwanted cats?" By this point Eric has scooped me into his arms. I sit quietly for him, it's the first time he's held me and I know I'm being protected. I hang over his shoulder to make a quick escape should Erik try to snatch me to feed to the dogs and peer at him malevolently. My tail swishes back and forth as I consider the satisfaction I would get from leaping at Erik's face and digging all ten front claws into that smooth skin. Red everywhere.

"He looks expensive? The stripes and that, kind of like a show cat. Couldn't you, I dunno, sell him or something?" He called me pretty.

"You sell him then! My payment, yes? For watching the cat. Look, I must go, keep the cat or don't, I don't care anymore. Alright?" He rubbed his hands together in two quick claps and held his hands up wrists out, as if washing his hands of me. And then he was gone again. And that was that. My new home was decided. Eric placed me back on the floor and I weaved my way between his legs, two tentative steps down the corridor towards the dogs, tail flicking against Eric's shin in irritation. Was this the start of my forced cohabitation with savages?

Behind me Eric inhaled and held his breath for one long minute before sighing loudly. "I can't sell you, can I?" He asked me quietly. I watched him for a few moments before padding off towards his bedroom. I had gotten into the habit of napping the day away on his bed, and nights spent laying on his head. He didn't seem to mind. Sometimes I'd wake up and Eric would have one arm slung across my back and I didn't even move away.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

And then I fell in love.

"It's Tud, Del, not 'Todd'. Tud."

"I can barely hear the difference, mate."

"You're literally not even close. Tud. Like Virtud? Spanish word. Virtud. Tud."

"You sound like a prat, Diet. It's LeviOHsa. Your name is Todd, isn't it, darling?" He's talking to me now. I've leapt onto the arm of the sofa and I'm sniffing him out with interest. He smells familiar and friendly and warm. Like being in the uppermost branch of a orange tree in the summer, the fragrance of the fruit warm and washing over you. I step tentatively onto his thigh as he scratches my ear.

"Well he certainly seems to answer to it." Eric replies in an air of surprise. Cat owners always feel obliged to say their cat doesn't take to anyone but you've somehow won their heart. Most of the time they're just saying that but Eric is genuinely taken aback. This is real. This citrusy boy is it. He's giggling now as I press my face into the crook of his elbow and my whiskers tickle his skin. Kitten-like, I flop into his lap and he continues to pet me absently as him and Eric go silent for a moment.

"He likes me almost as much you do, Diet."

"Oh shut up." Eric shoves lightly at Dele's shoulder, and I don't miss the way it lingers there, and there's a slight shift as Eric and Dele settle into each other on the sofa.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

And for a long time the days are like this. The dogs on the floor, me on Dele's lap, and Dier sharing the sofa with us. The house feels full again. The way the timbre of Dele's laugh sits in the rafters, brightens the space, I knew from the first that's what the house had been missing. What I didn't know is that that's what Eric had been missing as well. It was almost like his entire person was lighter somehow, like he was lit from within and Dele knows how to turn the switch. They laugh late into the night, fall asleep on the sofa a warm tangle of limbs. And everything is at peace. Quiet afternoons full of soft sighs and small smiles and the tinkle of laughter packed with saturated light.

Or at least that's how it used to be. These days the house is empty again, a hollow sort of feeling as patches of sun fall onto empty space and dust chases the absence of joy. The shadows loom ominously, as dark as the ones perpetually under Eric's eyes. It's not that he doesn't get enough sleep, he sleeps almost as much as I do. He just. Misses. And it's not that he doesn't see Dele, because I know that he does. He's just not here anymore. I don't have the capacity to understand why something so simple can just, so simply, end, but I do have the impatience to wish Eric could just move on. If I could, I would tell him to open up the house, fill it with enough people that all the emptiness can't find space anymore and maybe it will leave if not just for a while. But no more dogs allowed.

Maybe if I understood why Eric stopped laughing and why Dele just, stopped, I'd devise a plan for bringing him back but for now my only solution is to fill the gap with all the things that used to make this home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to explain how the cat portion of this story will fit, but it stems from a song from which this story is named. The Weakerthans music and themes are what I've more or less based my characterization for Eric around so if you want to learn more about his thoughtfulnesses and the somewhat mountainous way he considers the world, songs like the title and The Reasons and My Favourite Chords and Civil Twilight might connect you to him the way it has for me.
> 
> Please bear with me here, I've been working on this piece for months but I just can't seem to wrap my head around Dele. My intention is to post a chapter weekly and if I don't, I won't feel bad if you poke me.
> 
> Feedback is the fruit of my labour, please feel free to leave me that or other such strange gifts your pet cat might leave on your pillow.


	2. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Part II: The Pleas**  
> 
> A heartbreak calls to mind a beautiful, fragile object; perhaps of glass or crystal, being dropped and broken. All at once. A whole heart and then, smash, half a heart, a heart in pieces, shattered glass across the kitchen floor. In imagery heartbreak is often depicted as a jagged line through the centre, as if torn. A tear in the heart, in wait for someone who can sew it back together again.
> 
> But heartbreak in reality is something more subtle. Your heart endures and endures and endures until it breaks. Not all at once, but in small pieces stripped away flesh from bone until you're left with this hollow feeling, until your ribcage echoes, a cavernous barren place and the ache of it had been building and building until it's unbearable. That is the point at which people will call it heartbreak, but all along your heart was breaking, broken, and ready to be broke.
> 
> Because heartbreak begins with vulnerable act of allowing someone the capacity to break it.
> 
> This is how Dele broke Eric's heart, slowly and then all at once, and it began more or less the day they met.
> 
> _(like a lobster in a tub of boiling water, slowly adjusting to the temperature and then you're dead.)_

On the pretense of grabbing something he forgot, Dele snuck back into the Canteen. For someone about to steal more food than a person would consume in the single day, he ought to have been more aware of his surroundings. Few things about Dele are careful, though much is guarded. As it was, he was shoving the 5th protein bar into his bag when a voice behind him had him frozen, an animal stopped in its tracks. He turned, his face a mask of casual, and held the protein bar aloft like he hadn't just ferreted away 4 more.

"You should drink Lucozade right now. The protein bar will drop like a stone in your stomach. Digestive nightmare." Eric Dier leaned against the stainless steel serving conveyor, one arm pulled tight across his chest like an invisible sling held it there, like he held tight against a wound to prevent himself from bleeding out. The pained expression on his face added to the illusion. He tried to smile but there was something beneath the surface that pulled the smile into a grimace, something that unsettled Dele, fear?

"I think I know how to feed myself thanks." Dele replied. He didn't. They stood in silence and Dele wondered how to proceed. He couldn't very well have protein bars for tea. After eyeing Eric down he finally opened his bag wider and placed a container of bean salad from earlier carefully so that it sat flat against the bottom of the bag. "What are you still doing here anyway?"

"Gaffer wanted a few words with me about next season. Seems that I'm a midfielder now." He didn't comment on the food, in fact he looked away now, up into the intricate black steel piping along the ceiling, his mind somewhere else, probably a field, tripping over his feet as he tries to do the counter-intuitive and learn a new position. Again.

"Oh, brilliant."

"Is it."

"No, really, I reckon we could really use a player like you protecting the back." Finally Eric looked at him, face blank except for the smallest hint of something akin to hope. "I mean," Dele backpedaled, Eric's grimace widened so that his cheeks hurt. "I've watched a few games while I was away, yeah?" He scratches his head in a noncommital way, planting the false suggestion that he hadn't given it much thought. "You make such a mess back there sometimes, it's probably better they put a bit of distance."

Eric doesn't know what to make of this, the tone is light and playful and Dele is still concentrated on shoving quite a lot of food into his rucksack, and all Eric can really understand about the conversation is that his arm feels a little less tense pressed against his chest. He hadn't realized he had been holding his breath until he felt lighter, less laboured in the way he held himself there against the cold steel. He wrapped his other arm around the overhanging bar that connects to the heating unit and swung a little in place.

"But." Dele popped his lips on the B. "You do have a knack for intercepting plays. And it seems to me," He tapped a finger to his temple knowingly, bag on the floor now, gaping full of various foodstuffs. "You can't distribute the ball quite the way you'd like from back there." Still no words come to Eric; he considers what Dele is saying in silence, and this seems to satisfy him. He tries and fails to zip his bag around the surplus of food, slinging it over one shoulder after he gives up. It's heavy, and Eric's eyes linger on the way his spine goes taut, the curve of it as he overextends before he rounds his shoulders. He gives Eric a signature roguish grin, one side of his face scrunches up into what is not quite a wink. Eric falls into step beside him as they exit the building together.

"It was my idea." Eric says finally.

"What?" It's this habit of Dele's, Eric will come to know, to forget about a topic of conversation after a few minutes of distraction. Dele turns to regard him, vacant smile on his face as his mind flicks back to the last place they left off.

"To convert to mid. I--" He pauses, struggles to describe the feeling of wrongness as he defended his team from the wrong spot. He clenches his fists instead of casting them around in search of the next phrase.

"When it's right, you'll feel it." Dele supplies. "When everything falls into place, you'll know it, but it hasn't and you're beating yourself up about it."

"What if there is no place? What if it never fits?" _What if I never fit_. The fear spills out of Eric now and he struggles to gather it all back in. His arm goes tight across his chest again, his fingers holding it in place just below a rib.

"Or maybe your place is just here," Dele used his free hand to poke Eric in the chest, where he reckoned his heart was beating. He regards Eric for a moment, and then with a giggle changes his mind and presses the tip of his finger against Eric's temple instead. "In the places where you sense the team needs you the most. Not everyone would have the grit to keep looking. You know what you need to do, don't ever talk yourself into thinking you're lost." The finality of it suggests not an act but a static trait, a fact about Eric. An earnestness in it that told Eric he was a brand of brave that required no further explanation and the idea of anything else, of Eric being anything else, was inconceivable. He imagined being that person that would continue filling the gaps no matter what and felt stronger for it, felt for a second not like things were falling into place, but that they had been in place all along but he hadn't been looking at it from the right angle. Felt that he fit there in that fight, and not the somewhere that he yearned for that didn't require him to want, to need, to push. He felt it for a moment and then it was gone. He imagined being around someone who made him feel like that all the time. His heart skipped a beat. The intimacy of the moment threatens to swallow him whole. The natural light bursts in his eyes as they step out into the car park. In the distance the night lurks sinister and dark, the ever present warning of rain heavy in the shades of smoky blue.

"So how's London treating you so far?" It's an awkward transition and Eric bites his lip, wills Dele to let everything slide.

"I've not even been here a week." Dele answers wryly.

"That bad, then?"

"Nah it's been great actually. So great in fact, that I found a huge sale for living room furniture and the lot. Spent me entire moving bonus." Dele is grinning ear to ear now, completely unconcerned. "As it happens, I don't currently own a single utensil. Flat didn't come with appliances neither."

"Hence the food." Eric connects, elbowing the rucksack so that Dele lists a little as he loses his balance. He giggles and the noise is light and pleasant like the air outside but with none of the threat of rain. Once again Eric feels his muscles relax into the flow of their conversation.

"Something like that."

"How big's the telly?"

"90 inch."

"HD?"

"Naw it's OLED mate. Get with the times, old man."

"Gee, if only technology made it so that the food looked so real you could eat it. Pity's to you, you'll have to starve."

"We get paid next week."

"And until then?" Dele shoulders the rucksack to the other side by way of answer. As it bumps across his shoulder blades an apple bounces it's way free and rolls to a stop at the tip of Eric's toe. Instead of retrieving it he boots it out across the deserted car park and into the field beyond.

"Oi, that was my supper!"

"Tell you what. Dinner's on me tonight. I know a place in North London you'll probably want to get to know. I provide the food, you provide the entertainment system?" Eric suggested. It was a bit of a leap, but one that felt right to him. Teammates asked teammates to dinner, right? What didn't feel right was the way Dele's gaze slid just past Eric's, and he squinted out into the field and the coming twilight, in the direction of the apple Eric had kicked. The silence stretched into the impending darkness and Eric forgot to breathe again, heart pulled tight like a clenched fist and he wanted to squeeze his eyes shut and imagine himself anywhere but here. Then Dele smiled and the sunset was bright orange shot with jewel bright indigo and violent purples and plump with promise.

"The thing is, yeah? I haven't got a sofa either."

"What on earth did you spend all your moving bonus on then!?" Eric is incredulous now, and, if he's honest, a wee bit worried about how this overgrown child will take care of himself out in London all alone. Dele unloads the rucksack, letting it fall rather hard into the backseat of his car as items topple over the open side of the bag and onto the floor behind the passenger seat.

"No! I meant it hasn't shipped yet, has it." Dele explains with a shrug, a picture of nonchalance again, but Eric's not quite sure he believes him. "And I don't fancy asking mum for access to my savings else I'd have to explain how I royally fucked up from the first day on my own." Dele laughed like the idea of it didn't actually embarrass him at all. "So, yours then?" Dele asks as he slams the passenger door and elbows Eric aside on the way round the car. "I'll follow you home."

It was that simple.

On the drive home Eric alternates between gazing at the bleeding sky shot through with the gold of the sun setting ahead of him and the sky in his rearview mirror, azure and dark, the precession of the night that would swallow the sun. He himself felt jagged, torn there between the dying day and the nascent night. His nerves were as raw as an exposed circuit board and he rubbed a hand absently across his stubbled chin as he wondered why his heart beat so quickly out of time. There was a tenseness to his chest at the same time, an unreality to his fluttering heart, like he was instead caught between beats. He taps his other hand impatiently against the steering wheel as he feels his face flush at all the stupid cliches running through his mind. Nobody has ever understood him the way Dele did in a few minutes that felt like a an entire relationship played in reverse. Better even, perhaps, than he understood himself. Nothing had ever stirred his loyalty more than the idea of Eric that seemed to be building in Dele's mind. He so desperately wanted to find the place where he could be that, feel that all of the time. When he stepped into the cool twilit air to grab their food the heaviness of the pavement beneath his feet grounded him. He nodded at Dele idling at the roadside behind him and realigned himself with the simple fact of grabbing supper with a teammate. He shook all these thoughts from his mind and focused on being a friend for the night.

Dele passed out on his couch. After eating the lion's share of the takeaway and taking up the entirety of the sofa. One arm dangled over the side of it, fingertips pressing lightly into Clay's fur who had settled on the floor underneath him, perhaps to catch Dele should he fall. Eric was less than sleepy, a bit stiff in the reclining chair, a bit uncomfortable with his thoughts. He pulled a blanket over Dele, who didn't react at all, not even a hitch in his breathing, and he crept off to bed. Only Cisco followed him to the bedroom when normally both large dogs would crowd his bed. He tossed and turned in cold sheets for a space before returning to the living room and sprawling out on the smaller couch. Dele rolled over, pressing his face into the cushions.

Fitfully Eric drifted off to sleep fretting over whether he should have woken Dele, offered him the guest room, driven him home, slept in his own bed. Thought a lot less than this.

Eric in the morning is something of a daze. Half awake and barely confused (or was it the other way round?), Eric usually spends a snooze or two re-orienting himself with the world. Dele seems to wake up all at once. He's asleep and then he's wide awake. When Eric found enough consciousness to realize someone was tinkering around in his kitchen he sat up and, comforted by the sound of someone else at home, stretched and scrubbed a hand across his face.

When he entered the kitchen Dele didn't notice, too concentrated on the task of easing some of last night's takeaway into a bowl. Eventually he gave up and scooped the eggplant parmesan with the foil and all into a large glass bowl normally used for baking. Eric leaned on the doorframe and watched as Dele slid the bowl into the microwave.

"Er, what you doing?" Dele's hand jerked and the glass bowl dropped into the microwave with a clinking noise that reverberated to a stop.

"Why are you sneaking around your own flat like that? How do you set this thing." He fixes his attention back on the microwave, one finger hovered over the buttons as he tries to figure out how to start it.

"Dele, you can't put aluminium in the microwave." He crossed the kitchen to stop the microwave quickly as Dele finally found one of the buttons that would make it go.

"Oh. Right." He grins sheepishly and steps aside for Eric to take over. He stretches luxuriously, t-shirt riding up over his belly, which Eric studiously ignores. "You were sleeping forever. I was gunna leg it home but I was feeling peckish."

"And you haven't got a scrap to eat at home, have you?" He caught Dele in a yawn that turned into another grin. Dele shook his head, perched on the bar chair at the island in the centre of the kitchen. Eric delicately spoons the leftovers onto two plates. Without looking up, he continues, "You know, you could have made yourself a proper breakfast."

"No, I couldn't have done." Dele tells him. Eric frowns at him.

"Dele, help yourself to whatever you like, you didn't have to ask me first, we're mates I --"

"I can't cook."

"I'm not asking you to make us both an intercontinental breakfast, there's some eggs in the fridge you could have --"

"No, Eric, I can't cook. Like at all." Something was edging into his voice, something vulnerable and small but oddly not shy. The tone of it, unabashed and wanting, awoke something protective in Eric. "We had a chef back in MK. She came in on Sunday and prepared all our food for the week."

"Bit posh, that."

"Yeah." Dele shrugs, doesn't quite meet Eric's eyes. Eric busies himself with the food as he gathers his thoughts. He sets a bowl and fork in front of Dele and settles himself onto the chair beside him. They eat in silence for a while. Eric sits with the fact that Dele rarely asks for things but needs so much.

"So you'll hire a chef then? In London?" Eric asks after a while. He doesn't quite understand why he has to fake the casual tone. Something worries at the edges of his consciousness. Panic sets oddly in his chest, and he wars with all the questions in his head, all wondering how Dele is getting on.

"I haven't thought that far ahead." Dele tells him around a mouthful of food. 

"Ahead? You have to eat at least 3 meals a day, Delboy. The future is now." 

"I know that." Dele says a bit moodily. And then they both start to giggle at the ridiculousness of Dele feeling the need to defend his understanding of basic dietary habits. When they finish eating Dele takes Eric's bowl without comment and rinses their dishes and places them in the dishwasher. He looks over at Eric as he does it, as if seeking his approval. They watch each other a beat too long and Eric feels nervous and exposed again. "I guess I should be getting home." Dele says finally, checking his phone for the time. Eric nods. Dele grins at him again, wide and innocent and just for him. Eric can't help but grin back, a conspiratorial sort of way, a look shared between kindred spirits. "Or we could watch more Game of Thrones."

Without waiting for an answer Dele stomps his feet so that the dogs jump up to follow him. He fists tufts of fur in each hand and leads the pair of them into the living room. Eric follows slowly, heavy with this feeling in his heart like something has started growing there, that light is pouring in and cultivating something that feels like a new habit. Like Dele is something he had always been meaning to include in his life, had always been missing. He tries to ignore the ache of it, and the pernicious worry he applies to all things in his life: that everything must end.

They never discuss it when the Tottenham cooking staff leave a food schedule in Dele's pigeonhole one day.


	3. II

While most of the squad was still half asleep; while the sun still struggled to climb the sky, to peek over the horizon and lift itself, dragging the day behind it; the training grounds were wide awake. Green well kept sprawling pitch as far the eye can see, the sobering smell of fresh cut grass, dewy flecks of it darkening the tips of boots and creeping up onto socks. A warmth seeping into the air, a hint of the day to come.

And Dele, he was wide awake as well. Eric has settled into the routine the older players had of grasping at the dregs of sleepiness as they dragged themselves, zombie like, from the locker rooms to pitch 4 where the first team set up shop. Dele, new to the scene and showing no interest in following the flock, made an unsteady, ungainly line towards the pitch, veering into people as we he went, rapping the younger players over the head as he passed and attracting dirty looks all the while. Eric couldn't decide if he was ignoring the looks or he just didn't notice or care. At any rate, with the lazy acceptance of the tired, Dele's energy was quietly swallowed into their ranks.  

But some days not only was Dele awake but angry. On one such morning he stumbled across the green with more force than usual, shoving some of the older players when part of him normally knew to give them space. Eric watched his face sour when Mousa shoved back. For his part, Mousa looked generally unruffled, eyes already cast out into the mist beyond, mind travelling past the moment almost before it had happened. But Dele tripped over his own feet as he was flung out of the way and Eric didn't miss the way his eyes darkened. How he prolonged the glare he threw at Mousa, something dangerous brewing in the way his shoulders tensed and he rubbed one hand across his knuckle thoughtfully. Eric glanced around and saw only a few younger guys watching Dele wearily, most already looking away. Eric met Harry's gaze and he shrugged before returning to his conversation with Kieran. Dele walked along, his weaving gait a bit stuttered as he stared fixedly at the ground.

He dogged Mousa after that, despite Eric's effort to hold his attention, shoulder to shoulder as they jogged, pushing at him gently as his eyes wandered. He had found a target for his wrath and, though the insolence usually wore off by the time they finished suicides, Mousa seemed to have kept it burning.

Eric managed to keep them apart the first half of the morning, shunting Dele to the edge of the group as they jogged alongside each other. His chatter a persistent tapping, forcing Dele to forget about Mousa who had now settled back into a stupor of morning routines. When they started doing drills Eric didn't think anyone missed the way Dele laughed too loudly when Dembele scuffed his shot, let alone Mousa, who cast a dark look at Dele, something imperious in the way he crossed his arms and challenged Dele to do better. He did, sending a perfectly lofted ball straight into the back of the net, but it hardly mattered. When Dele saw Mousa had already turned his back he practically bristled.

Eric knew it was all nothing to Dembele, he could feel himself being poked like an angry bear and he would poke back, but to him it was just meaningless contrariety in an already overcast morning. For Dele it was about proving something, and he didn't look to be letting it go anytime soon. Only getting angrier.

When they played 5 a side Eric realized it had less to do with Mousa than it did with whatever state Dele seemed to be in. Every time someone went near Dele, tried to pick the ball off him, he moved out of the way gracefully but frantically. When someone clashed with him for the ball he visibly flinched, hurried to get out of the way, winced as he tried to win it back. A bad tackle had him bearing down upon the perpetrator like the game was real and the transgression unforgivable. Nobody else seemed to notice but it was highly distracting to Eric.

Eventually, he circled back towards Mousa. Eric saw the danger in the clench of his fists, in the way his voice rose and fell as he hissed in Mousa's ear. He had no idea what was being said but when Mousa squared his shoulders he practically sprinted in his rush to intercede.

"Hang back, Del. Miguel wants a word." At the sound of Eric's voice Dele's head turned instinctively towards him and something fluttered in the pit of Eric's stomach. Dele's mouth twisted into a cruel sort of smile, his eyes unfocused but still looking in Eric's direction. Instead of hanging back, Eric's words had the effect of making Dele rush forward. "Dele--" he began but Dele interrupted him.

"I've just seen him walking that way." Dele said, throwing an arm out loosely to indicate where he had seen him. Eric grabbed his arm and yanked him to the left of where everyone was heading. For his part, Dele let himself be yanked, didn't protest or react to being touched.

"He said to see him over here." Eric said, he pushed Dele with the flat of his hand towards a small storage hut. Dele stumbled a little but obeyed in leading Eric to where he had indicated.

"Sprints in 5 minutes, keeners!" Mousa called tauntingly. Dele spun, ready to spit fire but Eric shoved open the door and in the same motion tried to shove Dele inside.

Finally Dele was forced to focus his anger on Eric. Eric shoved him again, making sure he got all of it within his grasp.

"Here, why you shoving me about!" Dele protested. He shoved Eric back as he got his balance and Eric didn't move out of the way to give him space, instead absorbing the raw emotion in his unyielding stance. He pressed his palm against Dele's chest, pinning him to the porous wooden wall of the shed. He could feel hot licks of anger heaving Dele's chest. His aggression seemed to crescendo in the small room, it bent but it didn't snap. Eric pushed him again so he was flattened to the wall. "Stop it." Dele warned. Dele tried to step off the wall but Eric pushed him back again, pressing all of his weight into his palm, forcing the room to stillness. Dele's eyes flashed another warning but he just breathed quietly into the span of the silence, the heave of his chest steady under Eric's hand, perhaps weighing his options. His heart beat there too beneath Eric's palm.

"Hit me." Eric muttered.

"What?" The darkness in Dele's eyes became clouded with confusion. Eric held his ground.

"You're gunna hit someone. So let it be me." Conviction pitched his voice this time. Eric didn't know what else to do short of offering up a cheek so he just stood there, legs planted to brace himself for impact. Ignoring the vulnerability that crept hot and red like Dele's temper into his neck, ears and face.

"I'm not gunna hit you, Diet." Dele said, astonishment colouring his tone. "Or anyone." He said after a short pause.

"Not even Dembele?"

"He's fucking asking for it, isn't he." Dele spat.

"No. He's not. You're asking him to ask for it."

"What?"

"Just hit me, Del, alright? Hit me somewhere it won't bruise so we can get to the sprints."

"I'm not gunna hit you, Diet." Dele said again, quieter. The fight had drained out of him, he looked as exhausted as they had all felt rising before the sun.

"I'm literally asking for it. So why won't you?"

"I don't want to." He smiled then, a toothy smile and Eric forgot himself in the moment. Dele's eyes were heavy lidded and he looked to stifle a yawn. Eric's palm was still pressed flat against Dele's chest. Dele inhaled deeply and exhaled, pushing into Eric's hand as he did, drawing Eric's attention to the contact. Eric withdrew and Dele leaned back against the wall, still watching Eric. Eric started fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "Why've you kidnapped me, Eric Dier?" Dele asked him, that same toothy smile making Eric blink and blush.

"I'm keeping you out of trouble, Delboy." Eric said a bit haughtily, softening his tone with the nickname. Dele watched him silently, eyes finding Eric's nervous hand, following the seam to the spreading blush in Eric's neck, the curve of his nose all the way to the tip of his hair, pushed into odd angles from nervous sweaty hands.

"You sure look after me." Dele said absently, he was looking around the room now, eyeing the equipment hanging down over their heads. Finally he looked at Eric again, something owlish and intelligent in the way he watched him. The fire nearly gone.

"Yeah." Eric agreed, somewhat defensively. What else would he do? He couldn't defend himself, couldn't think of anything different to say.

"Nobody else stopped me."

"No."

"You watch me." It was more of a question than a statement. Eric's breath caught, he felt like if he tried to speak he'd choke. It wasn't an accusation but it still felt dangerous. Too many layers were being peeled back too quickly. Eric felt exposed. Dele still looked tired and dark, an insidious spark still held within his gaze. It was as if the room had become overwhelmed with the presence of everything Dele had just placed delicately between them. Eric realized the anger was still there in part, and being directed at him. He took a few seconds to compose himself, Dele waiting silently within arm's reach.

"Dunno. Ever since you came, feels like my little brother's joined the team." Eric explained in an offhand way, and it was partly true. The overwhelming urge to look after Dele had some facets of a brotherhood to it. Dele nodded then, like something in Eric's word was a confirmation of his own assumptions. The moment settled into a concept they were both more comfortable with.

"I wouldn't have hit him." Dele promised. His voice was low, barely a whisper, but it wasn't shy. Tentative, maybe, but unabashed and that same vulnerability Eric had sensed before. Dele shot a fist out in a glancing blow across Eric's stomach but Eric didn't flinch and if he had it would have been for different reasons entirely. Dele reached over Eric's shoulder, swatted at a hanging oblong shape that swung in place just behind Eric, the movement pricking at Eric's senses. "I don't know why I get so angry sometimes." Dele breathed, an admission of his condition that seemed to come from deep within him. He was in parts sad and in parts angry. No, frustrated. Trapped. Lost. Eric was torn between wanting to move away and wanting to move closer, frozen by indecision, the heat of the moment crashing over him in waves. He cleared his throat, fought to think of something to say but Dele continued unprompted. "I'm lucky to have someone like you around to stop me." He mumbled. If they weren't standing so close, Eric might not have heard him.

"I don't believe that." Eric told him. Instead of stepping closer or away Eric used the same motion of flattening his palm across Dele's chest to gently force him a step back. Dele giggled, something of a threat still there. Because he was still feeling oppositional Dele leaned in again, so close that Eric could see the pale scar over his eyebrow more clearly than he'd ever noticed it before. And then just like that they backed away from the brink of whatever was growing between them. Dele spun away towards the door and cussed quietly.

"We're missing sprints." He complained. Eric followed him out. Without trying to, Dele matched his pace to Eric's and they headed as one out towards the far pitch where the remainder of the morning would take place.

Back in the open air of the training grounds Eric held the conversation over a precipice of self doubt in his mind. It felt like so many things at once, emotions swirling around the indecision of which one fit it best, unsure whether Dele felt all the same, or something completely different. Cursing the word brother, tasting it in the back of his throat like a bitter pill. He swallowed, massaged his neck with one hand as Dele chattered inanely next to him. He let the word settle in the pit of his stomach, forced it to stretch and consume any other feelings towards Dele he might have. They're brothers now and that's...well, it's something. Whether a start or an end, Eric can't decide. He vowed not to hold the idea too close to his heart. Shaking out his limbs, Eric cast all of his thoughts out of the grounds, out of London, to someplace of peace he doesn't visit often anymore and concentrated on the task at hand.

Comforted by the established kinship between them, everyone came to know Eric and his little brother Dele as inseparable. Their relationship went unquestioned if not celebrated, and despite Eric's apprehensions it provided them the breathing room to become something else entirely. The heaviest hearts fall for the simplest approximations; Eric came to know Dele better than he had ever known another person before, but it would still take him another year to realize that Dele never wanted to hit Mousa.


End file.
